


Flutter of Fake Lashes in the Mirror

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Panty Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek knows Stiles keeps his secrets, even though he knows secrets always end in disaster. But he also knows he's going to take whatever Stiles lets him see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flutter of Fake Lashes in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Stop Drop Howl for the prompt "secret weapons". It went somewhere I didn't really intend but I did enjoy this one.

There was something off about the way Stiles was moving. Derek had noticed it when Stiles came into his apartment, shifting his hips absently, rolling them. Stiles was walking differently too, almost balancing on the balls of his feet for all he was wearing his usual converse. But he smiled like he always did when he saw Derek – half disbelief, half familiar mockery.

Sex for Derek was nothing new – he’d been using his body and having it used for such a long, weary time now. But sex with Stiles? The furtive seized moments in the dark of the woods to start, the way that what they were doing was teetering on the edge of legality and the fact Stiles knew his deepest secrets, knew him inside and out? That made sex something new again.

Stiles still kept his secrets, played his cards close to his chest by playing larger than life, the corners of his eyes already developing lines years before his time, the worried furrow between his eyes deep and near permanent. In some dark corner of his mind, Derek thought Stiles was using him to try and wash all that away, wipe it out with orgasms and the scrape of nails over skin that healed instantly, not even leaving temporary marks. But then Stiles smiled at him, a smile that conveyed their years of acquaintance at the same time acknowledging this still new and near unbelievable turn of events.

Derek was sure his smile was equally uneasy – he wasn’t used to smiling after all, as Peter had pointed out, mockingly, before they killed him again – but when he hid his face in Stiles’ neck when Stiles knelt over him, pressing close for a welcoming kiss, a sneaking touch of cold hands on overly warm skin, Derek was sure his face was revealing everything he couldn’t make it admit in sight of anyone.

“How was school?” Derek didn’t care. Stiles knew he didn’t. But they went through this strange ritual of Derek reminding himself of Stiles’ youth and jailbait status and Stiles mocking Derek for not holding down a job for longer than a few days, a week at best. They were on secure ground with this mocking, no danger of Stiles having to say anything meaningful or Derek to have to drop his pretense that everything was just the same as it had always been.

“Boring. It’s not like anything matters anymore. Not since-“ Stiles cut himself off. Unspoken rule of whatever they were doing: don’t talk about college and the future and what’s going to happen with us. Those conversations had swirled around Derek like eddies of a stream around a rock that wasn’t going anywhere. “Scott’s trying to persuade me to take charge of the Senior Prank Day.”

Derek settled on a non-committal hum, a breath against Stiles’ neck, an open mouthed kiss. He knew what kind of creative havoc Stiles could wreak. Stiles knew how much trouble he could get into. 

“I might have whispered a few suggestions but there’s no way I’m taking any share of this blame.” Derek heard the unvoiced promise that Stiles wasn’t letting his dad take any more shit because of things Stiles did. There had been too many close calls. “I’m a good boy.”

“You’re something.” Derek rocked Stiles closer, his hands skating down Stiles’ shirts, finishing up spread across the small of Stiles’ back. “Good?” It should have been easy to let cynicism and mocking into his words but Derek realized he sounded curious more than anything. He couldn’t feel the waistband of Stiles’ usual boxers above his low hanging pants.

“Very, very good.” Stiles wriggled until he was happy with his level of comfort in Derek’s lap, settling in for the long run. “Or. Well. I guess I would be bad in some definitions. Fundamentalist Christian weirdo definitions.” Stiles fluttered his ridiculous eyelashes before widening his eyes in mock innocence. Then he fell into his usual Derek watching expression, sharp edged and expectant. Derek took it all in, enjoying the rapid shifts, learning a little more of what Stiles let him know, the little bits Stiles revealed from under the surface.

Derek tugged Stiles down until their mouths could meet. It was easy, as easy as it had been the first time around, mouths slick, wet and eager. Stiles’ body relaxed against Derek as they kissed, his hips rocking again, shifting impatiently. Derek didn’t do anything other than kiss. It needed his full attention, what with the way Stiles smelled and tasted and overwhelmed him. Stiles’ lips were tainted with the edge of something new though, something oily, artificial. Waxy.

“Lipstick?” Derek said, confused. He pressed close again, seeking out the scent of Stiles’ skin. The faintest edge of the smell that had followed his mother around sometimes, of cream and powder and paint. “Why were you wearing makeup?”

Stiles pushed back, carefully pasting casual disdain on his face as carefully as he’d tried to get rid of all evidence of wearing makeup. “It was just a thing.” Secrets that Derek wasn’t part of.

Derek let Stiles slide off his lap, let him wander over to the window and look down at the street. Derek let himself remember that he’d only get to have the bits of Stiles that Stiles let him have, for as long as Stiles let him have them. He shouldn’t push for more, no matter how much he wanted to.

“The girls… They insisted I let them and it was more I let them talk me into it.” Stiles leaned against the wall, still looking out. “It’s fun. It’s all experimenting, right? I’m supposed to do that. I’m eighteen.” Stiles didn’t sound eighteen. He hadn’t sounded his age since before Derek had met him. Death in the family did that to people. “You hate it.”

It took an embarrassingly long time for Derek to realize that Stiles was talking about the drag queens that he’d been adopted by, the ones who stuck around after Lydia’s party anyway. Stiles came to him smelling of expensive perfume and cheap vodka sometimes, slurring his words as he pressed his cold feet against Derek’s calves, demanding heat and a warm pair of arms around him. “I don’t hate it.”

“It’s a little… It’s not weird. It’s not odd or strange or freakish.” Stiles’ voice wobbled. “It’s fun,” he repeated.

“Yeah.” Derek wondered if he should move, go to Stiles. “You should show me sometime. Let me see what you look like.”

“Really? I mean. Sometimes they dress me all the way up. I’m their Barbie!” Stiles waved his hands in the air, exaggeratedly sexy, carefully wild. “They just let me try on one thing today.”

“Yeah?” Derek watched as Stiles bit his bottom lip. He recognized the calculation in Stiles’ eyes as he looked up and realized that for all Stiles’ joking around, this was a test. This was a choice on Stiles’ part, to let Derek in on a part of a secret, to see if Derek could handle it. Stiles had been around werewolves for too long to leave that much scent on his skin if he really didn’t want to be found out, to be quizzed all about it. Derek mused it over, selecting and discarding any number of responses before he settled on, “You want to tell me?”

“I could just show you?” Stiles tugged at his waistband, just a little, and Derek couldn’t stand any more.

He pushed himself to his feet, flew across the room and pressed Stiles into the wall beside the window, enjoying the huff of annoyed breath and the welcoming way Stiles’ arms hauled him even closer. The kiss was filthy this time, open mouthed and wet and messy. Derek lazily fucked his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, wiping out the faint taste of lipstick finally until all he could taste was Stiles. He worked his thigh in between Stiles’ leg, holding Stiles up against the wall, incapable of breaking away.

Stiles’ dick didn’t quite feel the same as it normally did when they did this. Derek could tell it was hard – he swore he could smell it starting to leak even through all the layers of clothing – but there was something just off. Like the way Stiles had moved. And the way he bit his lip again when Derek pulled back, working out what Derek’s reaction meant as Derek looked down the length of Stiles’ lean strength to where his hands were firm on Stiles’ hips.

Derek strained his thigh up and Stiles ground down, a rough gasp working its way out of Stiles’ chest, torn from deep within him. “Let me see,” Derek ordered, a growl weaving through the words. Stiles nodded.

“Bed. Now.” When Stiles gave commands like that, Derek was almost certain to obey.

 

Stiles made him strip first. Derek was perfunctory about it – t-shirt, pants and underwear together. He even just held his hard cock loosely when he lay back on the bed, rather than stroking like he wanted to. He didn’t want to do anything to stop Stiles from revealing what Derek was starting to suspect he might be itching to boast about.

Stiles made his strip a tease, a show. He almost seemed to be moving to some weird internal beat as he unbuttoned his pants with a studied nonchalance. It was his breathing that was giving him away, the way his broad shoulders rose and fall with a ragged rhythm. Derek tried to keep his head on the pillows, tried to look like he was ready for whatever Stiles was leading towards. But the flash of some out of place red made him sit up, lean forward. He was so easy for Stiles.

It was then that Stiles stopped teasing and shoved his jeans to the floor, stepping out of the tangle. He lost the calm, the even edge that had let him pretend confidence and lead Derek to here and now. He was eighteen for all of an instant, unsure and ready to bolt. It took Derek’s scramble to the edge of the bed, the way Derek had to clamp down on him cock with one palm while the other wrapped over the arch of Stiles’ hip, not yet daring to touch.

Stiles suited the red panties. They weren’t truly women’s – not a tiny insubstantial piece of fluff like the thongs Kate had favored – but they definitely weren’t the typical boxers or even boxer briefs that Derek tended to see when Stiles stripped down. They were shorts, almost, halfway between red and pink and with a tiny panel of black lace where they split around the muscles of Stiles’ thighs. They looked silky, shiny and even and with a dark spot when the head of Stiles’ hard cock distorted the smooth material. The color made Stiles’ skin seem paler, made the rough hair on his thighs darker. Stiles pressed against Derek’s loose palm as he slowly turned around, letting Derek see how the underwear covered his ass or, more accurately, cupped it.

Derek held his hand still as Stiles turned, let the material whisper against his palm, let the warmth of Stiles’ skin underneath taunt him. The light touch made Derek press his hand down harder on his own cock when it jumped. They ended up where they’d begun, Stiles in front of Derek, not hiding anything.

“So. You like?” Stiles’ voice had dropped to a whisper. There was no need – they were very alone here, in Derek’s lonely apartment in the middle of the day. But Derek appreciated it. He liked the intimacy, the way Stiles wasn’t forcing or pretending it. The way that he wanted to keep it all quiet and just between them.

“Yes.” Derek wasn’t going to dissemble either. He couldn’t make his hands behave anymore, giving in to the urge to touch, to draw Stiles closer. He kissed Stiles again – straining upwards as Stiles bent near in double to reach him. It seemed naturally to fall back, to bring Stiles with him to sprawl over his body, cover him wholly. It was a bonus when Stiles rolled his hips down and Derek’s cock hardened even further against the soft, warm and satiny cloth.

Derek lost himself in kissing and then running his hands all over Stiles’ back and ass, jumping between smooth skin, familiar, and the silk of Stiles’ ass, which was strange and new. Finally Derek snapped, squeezing the curve of Stiles’ ass with both hands. “I need to fuck you,” he groaned, into the kiss. Stiles kissed back before pulling away slightly.

He looked wrecked –flushed, eyes wide, mouth raw – and Derek had to run his fingers over the start of the stubble burn on Stiles’ cheek. Derek had always thought he knew the real Stiles when they were here, that Stiles was incapable of hiding when overwhelmed by everything he was feeling, but Derek had come to realize that he only got to see that in glimpses. Here he was seeing it whole.

It took a huge effort not to haul Stiles back for another kiss.

Instead he flipped them, Stiles going eagerly onto his back, his legs spreading almost involuntarily. Stiles even put his hands on the waistband of his underwear to get rid of them. 

“No. Leave them. Just for a-“ Derek made a frustrated noise and slid down Stiles’ body, mouth glancing off skin until Derek was hovering over the tantalizing scrap of material covering Stiles’ cock. The dark patch from earlier was larger now and Derek bent to run his tongue over it, tasting Stiles and satin and wringing a heartfelt moan from Stiles. He was loud again when Derek sucked lightly at the stain and, with it, the head of Stiles’ cock. Then Derek carefully worked his fingers underneath the waistband and slowly, gently, worked them off Stiles. Then he placed a kiss on Stiles’ ankle.

 

Stiles didn’t claw down Derek’s back this time. He used his hands to hold Derek close and tight to kiss him as well as he could. Derek did his part to kiss, to use his mouth even when he was half-gone with the feel of Stiles around him. Stiles locked his ankles across Derek’s back to keep him close as well, and Derek let himself read into this that Stiles wanted him to stay, wanted to keep him. And Derek let himself like that, enjoy it, and beat down the whisper that said it was only for as long as he kept his dick in Stiles’ ass.

Stiles was making no attempt to wrap his hand round his cock to get himself off. Derek could feel it hot and wet against his belly as he rolled his hips as slow as he could. Stiles was always hot and tight and perfect and Derek knew that he wasn’t going to be able to draw this out as long as he wanted. Particularly since he wanted this to last for something uncomfortably close to forever. He wanted them to be caught in the fringes of an event horizon, a black hole, where they’d never age, never change, never leave this perfect moment. 

Stiles tightened his legs and Derek started to work faster, thrust harder, until he was almost shaking apart. The feel of Stiles spilling wet and hot tipped him over the edge as well, and Derek kissed Stiles through it all, taking all the shouts and moans and groans into his own chest and returning them in kind.

When he pulled back, Derek abandoned Stiles in the bed to grab a washcloth and dump the condom in the trash. Stiles hadn’t moved by the time he came back, sprawled out bonelessly.

“You don’t mind if I never move again, right?” Stiles told him, voice a little unsteady, as Derek carefully wiped Stiles’ belly and then between his legs. 

“Not at all,” Derek said. He wasn’t even being sarcastic. He stroked up Stiles’ thighs, easing the tight muscles he found, until Stiles settled even further into the bed, eyes fluttering shut. Derek fitted himself along Stiles’ side and drew the top blanket over them both. He let himself snag Stiles closer with an arm around his chest and pretended that Stiles really meant it, that he wanted to stay and not just until he was recovered from the wringing out feeling of orgasm. Derek brushed a soft kiss against Stiles’ temple and watched as Stiles fell asleep.

Maybe if he pretended hard enough, he’d even start to believe he could really have this.


End file.
